Umbra
by Shayney
Summary: Tom's worst nightmare comes true. P/T, K.


Umbra **Author's note:** _My answer to Rabble Rouser's "Halloween challenge" (story must involve a vampire, roses, and tears). _

**Rating: ** PG   
**Codes:** P/T, K   
**Date Posted:** 31 October 2000   
**Summary:** Tom's worst nightmare comes true. 

WARNING - CHARACTER DEATH!!!! This story is darker than my usual. If your taste runs toward more lighthearted fare, try last year's Halloween Challenge story, ["Hell Shuttle,"][1] instead. 

Spoilers through "Drive." 

Characters and situations owned by Paramount/Viacom. Used without permission. No copyright infringement intended. 

  


**Umbra**

by [Shayney][2]

**um·bra:** _1. A dark area, especially the blackest part of a shadow from which all light is cut off. 2. The completely dark portion of the shadow cast by the earth, moon, or other body during an eclipse. _

  


Harry was waiting in the transporter room when Tom got there. Punctual as always. He smiled tentatively when he caught sight of Tom, and reached for his pack. 

"Give me that," Tom said, taking it. 

"Thanks," Harry said, and limped up onto the transporter platform. 

Harry still wasn't walking very well. The Doc had several more surgeries planned, but not until Harry recovered a bit more. 

Once, Harry had moved with the exuberant grace and endless energy of youth. Watching his awkward, halting steps now was painful. An unwelcome reminder of the accident that had changed Tom's life forever. 

This wasn't the kind of shore leave Tom wanted. His idea of a good time was a busy city and a hot night life, with plenty of civilized comforts and alien vices to sample. But the government of this planet was reluctant to allow them into their urban centers. They were offered shore leave, but only in sparsely populated, rural areas. 

Harry was looking forward to it, of course. He still hadn't lost that neophyte enthusiasm, despite everything that had happened. Sometimes it made Tom want to throttle him. 

_It's not Harry's fault,_ he tried to tell himself. _It was an accident._

But Tom's life was in ruins, and it was hard not to be bitter. An undetected asteroid field, a young, inexperienced pilot, a fiery shuttle crash - in one moment, Tom lost everything. His sweet, beautiful B'Elanna, gone forever. He'd had some problems dealing with it - who wouldn't? - and the captain had relieved him of duty. Just temporary, she said, until he was better. 

The only problem was, Tom wasn't sure he was ever going to be better. The rest of the crew shunned him now, not knowing what to say to him, fearing his misfortune was catching. They were polite enough, but couldn't look him in the eye...afraid of the emptiness there. Only Harry, his first and last friend, stuck by him. Out of guilt, loyalty, or sheer stubbornness, Tom wasn't sure. Just as he wasn't sure whether to be grateful or resentful. 

So here they were, going on shore leave together. Just like they used to, before. Only now, it was because none of their other crewmates welcomed their presence. 

Maybe this would be just what he needed, Tom thought. He was so tired of the whispers that stopped when he got near, the pitying looks, the way their eyes shied from his. At least here, no one would know him, or about what had happened. 

Except Harry. Tom would have preferred to go alone, but the captain insisted on the buddy system. Besides, Harry wasn't well enough to be on his own yet. 

They beamed down in a forest clearing. Trees towered around them, cool and majestic. The crisp mountain air contrasted exhilaratingly with the heat of the reddish sunlight filtering through the leaves. Before them was a cottage of stone and wood, with a high tower atop it. It was beautiful, and Tom felt his heart lift a little. Maybe this shore leave would be okay after all. 

Harry brightened, looking around. In this warm, rosy light, the scars barely showed. He seemed almost the untouched youth Tom had rescued from Quark's bar, so many years ago. Tom found himself smiling in response. When Harry moved toward the cottage, limping stiffly, Tom, a little giddy with the fresh air, picked him up in his arms and carried him up the rickety wooden stairs, depositing him on the stone porch. 

Harry laughed, startled, then pushed forward into the cottage. Tom followed, frowning slightly. Harry had felt so fragile in his arms. Harry, who had always seemed so solid. 

Inside, the cottage was Spartan but clean, with simple wooden furniture - a table, a bed, some benches - and a huge stone fireplace. There was a staircase of sorts, leading up to the loft. Or maybe it was more like a ladder. It was a large log, with steps carved into it, leaning against the edge of the loft. No way would Harry be able to get up that. 

Tom climbed up, looking around. There was another bed up in the loft, and another log staircase. It must lead up to the tower. "I'll sleep up here," Tom called down to Harry. "You can have the bed downstairs." 

"Thanks," Harry said. He threw his pack on the bed, and himself after it. "This place is great," he said. 

"Yeah," Tom said, smiling a little. 

# # # # # # 

Tom woke early the next morning. Harry tired easily these days, and was still asleep, so Tom decided to go exploring on his own. He grabbed some supplies, and followed the stream into the woods. 

He walked for awhile, until he came to a glade beside a wide, deep pool. The trees were thick and tall here, so it was dim and shadowy even though the sun was high. As good a place as any to have lunch. Tom hadn't brought any food, but that didn't matter. He had something to drink. 

Opening his canteen, he took a swallow of the harsh, heavy liquor inside. A few months ago, he'd have turned up his nose at such a primitive brew. Now he had no choice. The captain thought he was drinking too much. He scowled. Who wouldn't, in his situation? But the bitch had restricted his replicator usage. No more synthahol. For awhile, he'd gotten around it by getting Harry to replicate his booze for him, but the captain had found out, and now Harry's replicator usage was restricted, too. 

So he was stuck with the moonshine from the Maquis still. Not so long ago it had been only the best French wines. Not so long ago, he'd been the envy of the entire ship. A great job, a beautiful wife, a bright future. All wiped away in an instant, thanks to a young idiot's carelessness. 

Sorrow welled up, so intense he could barely breathe. It just wasn't fair. Every time he built up his life, it was smashed to pieces again. There was only so much one man could take. He should have been on that shuttle. He should have died with B'Elanna, with all his hopes and dreams. 

Gradually, something pierced his misery. The scent of roses. B'Elanna's perfume. 

He wouldn't have expected B'Elanna Torres to be the kind of woman to wear scent, but she always did, every day. She had worried that her strong, musky odor, normal for Klingons but pungent by human standards, was offensive, and tried to cover it with floral perfume. Tom had always loved the way she smelled. The rose scent would be too sweet on any other woman, but combined with the rich musk of B'Elanna's skin, it was intoxicating. 

Tom's eyes filled with tears, and he shut them. He knew it couldn't really be B'Elanna's perfume. It must be alien flowers that grew in the forest here, that just happened to smell like her. Funny how odors cut right through the higher cerebral functions, going straight to the reptile brain and its raw emotions. For a moment, Tom was filled with so much pain he thought he would die of it. 

He opened his eyes, and for a brief second, he could swear that he saw her. The image was fleeting, and blurred with tears, but it was B'Elanna. Wearing his favorite dress of low-cut red velvet, standing there in the clearing in front of him. Then she was gone. 

Tom took a deep, shuddering breath. He was losing it. He would have to stop drinking. 

Tomorrow. He picked up the canteen again. 

# # # # # # 

For a few days, Tom tried to find the source of the alien flowers that smelled like roses, but he never could. The tricorder couldn't seem to pick up the odor, and he couldn't find any flowers at all in the forest. He always gave up after a couple of hours, and sat in the glade by the stream, drinking and napping. Perhaps because of that memory-rich scent, he often dreamed of B'Elanna there. She seemed so real, he could almost feel her soft, warm lips against his. 

# # # # # # 

"I want to come with you," Harry said. 

Tom tried not to let his impatience show. He was planning to walk to the market in the village - way beyond Harry's current capabilities. "You can't walk that far." _Though maybe you could, if you followed the Doc's instructions for once in your life._

"We could transport there. It's kind of boring, being alone here all day." 

Tom didn't want that. It would be faster, but Harry was sure to argue over the supplies Tom bought. Particularly the liquid supplies. "I'll see you later, Harry," Tom said, and strode off into the woods. 

"Tom!" Harry called after him, but Tom ignored him. 

Geez, when had Harry become so whiny and dependent? Ruefully, Tom remembered that he'd always spent his shore leaves with Harry, not B'Elanna. He and Harry had always got along so well. They'd shared the same interests. While he and B'Elanna always ended up fighting over what to do. It was just easier to go with Harry, while B'Elanna went with Sue or Chakotay or one of her other friends. Now he deeply regretted all the wasted moments he and B'Elanna might have shared. He'd give anything to fight with her again. 

The marketplace was small but busy and colorful. A variety of goods were laid out on rough wooden tables, including Tom's most pressing need: booze. He was going through his supply alarmingly fast. 

He made his selections quickly, stuffing the various jugs and bundles in his pack. He was about to leave when something caught his eye. A small dagger, in an ornate silver sheathe. It was a lovely thing, with clean, elegant lines, perfectly balanced, and very sharp. Beautiful and efficient, like his B'Elanna. 

This was just the kind of thing he would have bought as a souvenir for his wife, once. Klingons considered knives to be very romantic gifts. Now, of course, he had no one to give it to. 

The proprietor noticed his interest. "The very best, a rare antique," she said. "They're not made like that any more. It will never break or corrode. The metal is starsteel. Found only in a few ancient meteorites. Exactly where is a mystery long forgotten." 

Crap if he ever heard it. It was likely a cheap gewgaw mass-produced for sale to tourists all over the planet. But Tom found he liked the feel of it in his hand, so he haggled with the dealer and bought it - for probably an outrageous sum, judging from how friendly the woman became, once the sale was made. 

Her name was Bonari. All the natives looked alike to Tom, but she was apparently an elder of her species, remembering generations of local history. "The old firewatch tower," she said, when he told her where he was staying. "When the fire risk was high, people used to take turns, watching the hills for smoke or flame. If they spotted any, the whole village ran to contain the fire." 

"You don't use it any more?" Tom asked. 

"We have surveillance satellites now, to do that job. For awhile, the old firewatch tower was used as a residence, but...well, people don't like to live there any more." 

"Why not?" Tom asked, interest piqued by something in Bonari's expression. 

"It has a tragic past," she replied. "People are superstitious." 

"What happened?" 

She didn't seem to mind telling the story. "It was many, many years ago. A young family lived there. They were very happy...until the wife discovered her husband was unfaithful. She went mad with grief. She killed her husband and the mistress, then drowned herself and her children in the stream. At least, that's what I think. Some say otherwise." 

"It's haunted?" 

She seemed to consider, and Tom wondered how the universal translator had interpreted the word. "Not exactly. It's not ghosts people fear. They think it was a...." there was a long pause, then the translator decided on "...vampire." 

Tom puzzled over that. "A supernatural creature that drinks blood?" 

"No, no. The vampire does not drink blood. It drinks tears. It lives alone in the high places, but grief may draw it to human dwellings. Most folk need not fear, but those tragedy has visited - they are vulnerable. The vampire will scent their pain, and use glamours and illusions to drive them to insanity and death. To feed on their misery." Bonari stopped suddenly, seeming to regret her words. "It's just a superstition," she said. "Not real. And even if it was real, you would be safe. You are here on vacation, for happy reasons." 

"Yeah," Tom said, nearly choking on the irony. No mythical spook could equal the horror that was his life now. For awhile, in this new place, surrounded by people who didn't know what had happened, he was almost able to forget. Almost. 

# # # # # # 

Tom was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming. He didn't want to stop dreaming. 

He lay on the grass, and B'Elanna lay beside him. She felt so real. Soft and warm and alive, and smelling of roses. 

"I missed you this morning, Tom. Where were you?" 

"Had to go get supplies. I came as soon as I could." 

B'Elanna gave a contented little purr, and snuggled against him. Tom sighed, and pulled her closer. 

He was alone when he woke up, of course. But in the fading light, he could swear the grass beside him was flattened, almost as if someone had been lying beside him. 

# # # # # # 

Tom recognized the set look on Harry's face, and mentally steeled himself. 

"Tom, let's go fishing today," Harry said, determinedly cheerful. "You said yesterday we could go today." 

"You go. I don't feel like it." 

"Come on, Tom. One morning. You can spare your best friend one morning." 

"No. I have other plans." 

Harry was silent a long moment, then said, "You mean you're going to go out in the woods and get drunk again." 

"So what if I am?" 

"You know that doesn't help!" 

"Do I?" Tom stalked out of the cabin and into the woods, fuming. How come he'd never realized before what a pompous, self-centered jerk his best friend was? Once, he'd been willing to give his life for Harry Kim. Damned if he could remember why, now. 

Reaching the glade, he sat down facing the stream and was soon very drunk. _I hate you, Harry Kim. You killed my wife._ Harsh, bitter sobs shook him, so hard he thought his very bones would shatter. He cried for everything he had lost. 

"Tom, oh, Tom, don't cry." B'Elanna's arms were around him. She rocked him gently, stroking his hair. 

Finally, he ran out of tears. "B'Elanna." Tom didn't remember falling asleep, but he must have. She couldn't be here. But she seemed so real. Solid and strong and beautiful, just as he remembered her. 

"Are you a dream?" he asked her whimsically. "Or a vampire?" 

"You have a weird sense of humor, love," she said, and Tom didn't press it. Dream, vampire, or his own insanity, he'd take it. 

# # # # # # 

As usual, as the shadows grew long, Tom headed back to the cottage. He was on the porch, about to open the door, when he heard Harry's voice through the open window. There was an urgent tone to it that made him pause. Silently, he listened. 

"....not helping. Doc, I think he's getting worse. He spends all day out in the woods, and all night up in the loft alone. Drinking. He hardly talks to me, and when he does, he's barely civil." 

The Doc's voice replied, with the slightly tinny sound voices had over the comm. Harry must be talking to _Voyager_, via his combadge. 

"Mr. Kim, I think you should both return to the ship immediately. I warned you that Mr. Paris' adjustment to...recent events...was not healthy." The Doctor's tone was disdainful. "If you ask me, he belongs in the brig, not on vacation." 

"It was an accident," Harry protested. "You can't blame him." 

"Can't I? His wife died, you almost did. He came out of it with only a hangover." 

"He was upset! He'd had a fight with B'Elanna, and drank a little. He didn't mean to hurt anyone." 

"Mr. Kim, from what you describe, his guilt is coming to a head. Anyone nearby could become a scapegoat. You're not safe down there alone with him." 

"All right. As soon as he gets back, I'll tell him the captain has cancelled our shore leave..." 

Tom wasn't listening any more. They were going to take him back to the ship. He'd be separated from B'Elanna. He couldn't let that happen. Dream or not, he couldn't imagine life without her. 

Turning, he crept quietly back out into the woods. Once he was safely clear, he began running. He had never been out this late before, and tripped repeatedly over rocks and roots he could barely see. But he kept going. "B'Elanna!" he called frantically. "B'Elanna!" 

She evolved slowly out of the darkness, lovely as always. Her eyes were very bright, almost glowing, her lips red and moist. "What's wrong, Tom?" 

"B'Elanna. Darling. I won't be able to see you again!" 

"Why not?" she asked. 

"Harry!" Tom blurted. "He's jealous. He told the Doc lies about me, and now they're going to make me go back to the ship." 

"Oh, Tom, that's terrible! You can't let him do that!" 

"I can't stop him," Tom said. 

"I can," she replied. "If you let me." She smiled seductively, dropping small, rose-scented kisses on his lips and cheeks. "Just say yes, and we can be together always." 

Tom clutched at her slender body, breathed in her sweet, musky scent. 

"Do you choose me over Harry?" she asked. "Do you? Just say yes." She kissed him again. "You have to say yes." 

"Yes," he whispered. 

# # # # # # 

Tom woke up, head aching, feeling something was terribly wrong. He was lying on his bed in the loft of the cabin, with no memory of how he got there. 

"Harry?" he called. There was no answer. He peered over the edge of the loft - and his heart froze. 

"Oh my god, oh my god. Harry!" 

He threw himself down the ladder, more falling than climbing. Blood, there was so much blood. Harry sprawled in the middle of the floor, eyes staring, throat slashed. The ornate silver knife, stained with blood, lay beside him. 

"NO!" he shrieked. Grief and horror slammed through him. And suddenly he knew who had done it. "B'Elanna!" 

Tom bolted from the cabin and pelted out into the forest. "B'Elanna!" he shouted. "B'Elanna!" 

She was waiting for him, there in the glade. "Hello, lover," she said. 

"How could you? Harry was your friend!" 

She smiled voraciously, and suddenly, she wasn't beautiful any more. She looked as she had the last time Tom had seen her: blackened, burned, bone showing through her seared flesh. 

"No!" Tom cried, backing away. 

She pressed close to him. She didn't smell like roses any more. He gagged. "What's the matter? Don't like my face? But it's your design." 

He screamed and struggled, but her wizened body was impossibly strong. "You wanted to be with me forever," she said. "Now you will be." She wound her dry, shriveled arms around him, and pulled him into the dark. 

  


  
[Visit Shayney's Webpage][3]

   [1]: hallowen.htm
   [2]: mailto:ShayneyL@aol.com
   [3]: http://members.aol.com/ShayneyL/



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